


Companionship

by Ruler_of_Nope_Island



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Casual Sex, First Time, Light-Hearted, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruler_of_Nope_Island/pseuds/Ruler_of_Nope_Island
Summary: Nice lads having good sex. PWP.
Relationships: Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 145
Collections: Jaskier/others (besides or with Geralt)





	Companionship

They make it halfway down the road before Jaskier notices that Chireadan is covered in blood.

“Is that yours?” he asks, although his tone suggests that he’s still back at the ruined house, watching Yennefer and the Witcher through the broken window. Chireadan had never really understood the concept of a “hate fuck” until a few moments ago; hate was not something he associated with sexual congress but the absolute spite with which the copulating pair drew pleasure from each other was quite the eye opener.

“I hope not,” Chireadan says lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “There’s an awful lot of brain matter there.”

Healer humor. The other man looks aghast.

“Uh-”

“Your friend made our jailer’s head explode,” Chireadan says. “After that, the town council decided we had black and wicked arts at our disposal and let us go.”

“Don’t you live here?” Jaskier has that very human attribute of generating small talk whilst being otherwise completely mentally absent. 

“Not anymore.” A gloomy thought. The townsfolk liked his skill and he had a few friends among his fellow soldiers. But he had been tolerated and it was hard to find places that even tolerated elves. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says and genuinely sounds like it. He suspected that Jaskier had been a man of feeling, much like himself, given the surprisingly eloquent eulogy he’d spouted mere minutes after the Witcher’s apparent death. Which was nice; many humans said they were sorry but very few meant it.

A memory, like a shard of glass underfoot: Yennefer turning to him, when he was there last, her eyes so vivid and unearthly, her sultry mouth saying “I’m sorry, Chireadan. But I’m not for you.”

She’d meant it. And he understood: his manner was too gentle, his soul too good - how she’s discerned that after a conversation of an hour was uncertain - so she could not return his feelings. He’d shrugged: he was sorry too, but disappointment was often what he was handed. Something in her eyes suggested that she, too, understood disappointment. Imagine being that beautiful, that intelligent, that powerful, and being so often disappointed. 

“Do you have somewhere to stay for the night, at least?” Jaskier asks, and Chireadan realises he’s the one who’s drifted from the conversation.

“I’ll probably be allowed to stay for a day or so whilst I pack my things,” Chireadan says. “The other soldiers are grateful to me, they won’t put me out straight away. I may even get some wages.”

“That’s good, I suppose. I’ll need to head back to - well. All of my things are in another town. And I’m guessing waiting around for Geralt will take too long.”

His smile is a little wistful. 

“Yes, they will probably be-”

“Fucking.”

Chireadan flushes. He’s never been one for swearing. 

“You should stay with me,” he says, trying to cover up his own awkwardness. “It’s getting late and I wouldn’t trust the roads in darkness without your Witcher friend.”

“Not according to him,” Jaskier says quietly.

“The fact that he dragged you to a dangerous mage in fear of your death speaks strongly of his indifference.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, brightening. Chireadan resists the urge to roll his eyes. This young man is pretty, for a human, but clearly not very bright. It strikes him that Geralt is also a man of great feeling who probably doesn’t want to be, which must make him deeply irritating at times. Whereas Yennefer was entirely composed of strong emotion and never apologised. Chireadan feels that this is probably not the best combination of personalities. They literally brought a house down; probably not a good omen for future contentment. 

They approach the camp; the dusk is falling and the guard, unsurprisingly, greets them cautiously. 

“So - “ he stammers, wide eyed. “I hear you -”

“No, it was all the Witcher,” Chireadan says. “They are terrible when they get angry. Everyone knows that.”

Jaskier draws an offended breath and seems to be about to say something but the guard cuts him off.

“Dark and evil magics,” he nods, “I knew it wouldn’t be you. Sorry you got caught up in it.”

“If I had dark and evil magics,” Chireadan says, “I would have made the Sergeant’s gentleman’s parts fall off.”

There’s a pause. 

“Do you know how much time I have spent looking at that thing? It’s more log than, well -”

The guard laughs. 

“Sticks it in some odd places, I’ve heard.”

“He certainly gets some very strange infections,” Chieradan replies. The guard relaxes; distracted by gossip and a shared antipathy. “Including one I thought was restricted to goats.”

The guard chuckles and waves them through. Jaskier follows Chireadan to his tent. 

“Really? Dark and evil magics? Terrible when they get angry?” He’s offended, almost as if he was the insulted one. 

“I’m sure your friend always keeps a firm grip on his temper,” Chireadan says. He’s starting to regret his earlier offer. 

“Well,” Jaskier huffs, “well.” At a loss for words. 

Chireadan begins to remove his armor; the buckles are sticky with drying blood and he can feel gobs of brain matter sliding down his back. 

“Could I prevail upon you to help?” He asks. Jaskier is still staring at him, although his expression has changed to something very strange and very human.

“Alright,” Jaskier says. “Only because you helped Geralt. And me. And are letting me stay for the night. But I won’t forgive you for insulting Geralt. He’s actually very good company.”

“He made a man’s head explode.” 

“The djinn made the man’s head explode.”

“But he wished for a man’s head to explode.”

“And you never have?”

Clever fingers help him peel off sticky leather; he doesn’t need help taking his shirt off but Jaskier helps with that anyway. 

“Would you mind leaving for a while?” Chireadan asks, after he’s stripped down to his trousers. “I want to wash.”

Jaskier gives him another look. 

“You are a bard, yes? Go sing a song to the soldiers. Try to restore your witcher’s reputation.”

“How did you know I was a bard?”

“Your stupid clothes. And you never stop talking.”

“I think my throat’s too sore,” Jaskier replies. “Given everything it’s gone through in the past few hours, it’s a bit too much to ask.”

“I’m a healer and your throat is fine.”

“I’ll just look at the wall. I’m not going to watch.”

“It’s my tent.”

“Well-” he’s gearing up to say something witty, Chireadan can tell. So he decides on honesty.

“I would like to masturbate.”

A pause.

“Are you going to wash first?”

“Yes. It would be very unhygienic not to.”

“I can help.”

It’s always the eyes, with humans. Chireadan is, on the whole, largely indifferent to human beauty - but the eyes. Well. Jaskier’s are a beautiful, clear, blue - they turn up at the corners when he smiles. He’s smiling now, a gentle, inviting smile, and despite the disgusting state of Jaskier’s shirt, and his own still disgusting state, his cock twitches.

“If you were to help,” he says. “It would not be masturbation.”

Jaskier looks thoroughly confused. 

“It would be sex.”

“Is that a no?”

“Well -” Chireadan grabs a cloth, wets it using some distilled water, and begins to clean his ears, “I would like to be very clear on what we are doing. To avoid situations where I give a Corporal a prostate massage every two days because he swears he has a pain there and I have to assure him that getting an erection is completely normal.”

There are clearly a lot of questions Jaskier would like to ask but instead grabs the washcloth and scrubs Chireadan down. He can feel Jaskier’s erection pressing into his hip and preens a little. 

The scrubbing’s a little too efficient to be erotic but Jaskier is clearly impatient to get to it and once they are both clean Jaskier clumsily presses his mouth to Chireadan’s. 

Something about the way Jaskier’s kissing feels a little strange, even from Chireadan’s limited experience, so he pulls away, suddenly suspicious.

“Is this your first time with an elf?” He asks.

“It’s my first time with a man,” Jaskier replies, flushing. “I mean, I have thought about it. Quite a lot, actually. And I’ve read some books. And I watched two men on the other side of Yennefer’s orgy-”

It’s rather sweet. Chireadan smiles.

“Take your shirt off.”

Jaskier does; strips entirely in fact, and the flush is on his chest. Human men could be distressingly hairy, like beasts, and whilst Jaskier has an average amount of chest hair, he is not displeasing. He is of above average length and girth; surprising, given the leanness of his frame. Chireadan runs a hand down his chest and takes Jaskier in hand. A firm grip, but not too firm - and then an experimental stroke upwards.

“Oh,” says Jaskier. His eyes are wide and dark. 

“This will be much more pleasurable if we lie down.”

The cot is a little cramped but there’s enough space for them to lay on their sides, facing each other. Now, as the light dies, Jaskier is more confident. He runs his hands over Chireadan’s bare chest - grinning as he pinches a nipple and Chireadan groans - and leans across to nibble at the side of Chireadan’s neck. How long has it been since he has indulged in pleasure for the sake of pleasure?

They stay like that for a while; rubbing up against each other, kissing and biting, but gentle, sweet, soft. Then Chireadan takes Jaskier in hand again and has to stifle the noise that he makes with his hand. 

“This is very pleasant,” Chireadan murmurs into Jaskier’s damp neck. 

“Pleasant?” Jaskier says into Chireadan’s palm. 

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Chireadan says, hurriedly. “But -”

“Fuck me.”

“You are very direct for a bard,” Chireadan struggles to hide his excitement. He is mindful of Jaskier’s inexperience. 

“Oh, my beautiful elven lover. With eyes as bright as the morning sky and skin like silk. Roll me over and stick it in me.”

“It’s not your best work.”

“I’m not very good at composing when I’m this...close.”

“Well. You are putting a lot of trust into someone you just met.”

He’s uncomfortably hot and very, very hard. 

“You’re a healer. I assume you know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you for your confidence in my sexual prowess and my professional capabilities.”

“And people say I talk a lot,” Jaskier complains.

“Well. Roll over then. It will be easier that way.”

Jaskier does; Chireadan is greeted by a smooth, scarless back and probably the most exquisite arse he’s ever seen. He drags his thumb over the cleft, all the way down to the sensitive skin behind Jaskier’s balls. He presses down; Jaskier jolts forward and curses. 

“So do you trust me?” Chireadan asks, reaching under his bed. His fingers close on a small glass vial.

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

He pours the oil down the crack of Jaskier’s arse; watches it trickle down over his hole, and gently massages it in.

“That’s a bit cold,” Jaskier says, apologetic; his erection is flagging. 

Chireadan chuckles, leans forward, and licks. Jaskier stifles a gasp. 

“And that was unexpected.”

“But not entirely unpleasant, I hope.”

“Please do it again. Please.”

Chireadan kisses the puckered rim softly; slowly coaxes it open with his tongue. Jaskier’s breathing is quick and hard. Soon he’s pleading but Chireadan likes this particular act, likes taking his time, and wants Jaskier to enjoy it. 

There’s soft footsteps coming up to the tent - too light for Jaskier to hear but enough for Chireadan to notice. He turns, and sees the shape of the Witcher staring at them.

“Can I help?” he asks, keeping his tone polite and the grin off his face. 

The expression that answers him could either be shocked, aroused, or sheer embarrassment. 

“Well, go away. I am clearly busy.”

Maintaining eye contact, he slides a finger inside Jaskier, who seems too preoccupied to pay their visitor any attention. 

“Just like that-” Jaskier whimpers, and squirms as Chireadan twists his fingers. “-you glorious - oh. Please. I’m going to-”

The witcher turns on his heels and walks away. He stills his hand; selfishly, he doesn’t want this to be over until he is inside. He wants them to share this pleasure. 

Jaskier is surprisingly easy to stretch open; when Chireadan is sure he is ready, he shifts so he is on his back.

“Can we do it this way?” he asks. 

“It is possible,” Chireadan replies. He pulls Jaskier’s knees over his shoulders and slides in and it is so tight and slick he thinks he might come right there - he breathes slowly for a few minutes, then slides his hand up over Jaskier’s chest.

“Could you just-”

The first thrust knocks the breath out of both of them. At first, Chireadan keeps his thrusts smooth and slow, but eventually - for lack of a better term - he starts fucking Jaskier, slamming into him, whislt Jaskier twists and whimpers. Not as noisy as Chireadan thought he’d be, but then he doesn’t want more people wandering in.

He wraps his hand around Jaskier’s cock and strokes a few times and the look on Jaskier’s face as he climaxes brings him over the edge as well. It is good and it is pleasurable and neither of them will walk away from this regretting anything. 

Well, apart from the fact that Jaskier wants to cuddle instead of cleaning themselves up and Chireadan knows he’ll end up in the wet spot. 

“How did this escalate so quickly?” he asks, stroking Jaskier’s hair as the other man snuggles into his shoulder. “I just wanted to be kind and give you a place to sleep.”

Jaskier laughs.

“I’m very charming.”

“Especially when you’re coughing up blood. It was at that very moment I thought that I would put my tongue up your arsehole.”

Jaskier pinches his nipple. 

“If we travel together for a while you’ll realise. I’m a good companion, an excellent singer, and a fast learner.”

“Good for you.”

“No, I’m serious - you can learn a lot about a person from travelling. I want to know you better, oh mysterious and alluring elven healer.”

“I don’t have a gag reflex,” Chireadan says, and Jaskier laughs.


End file.
